


A Day on the Train

by dorklock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorklock/pseuds/dorklock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All John Watson wants to do is go home after a long weekend spent with his chatty mother, but when he meets Sherlock Holmes on a train ride home, he is drawn to his character and need for adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quite the First Impression

"-and remember to come back and visit again _really_ soon!" John's mum called after him as he walked down the pathway in front of her cottage.

"I will, mum." He responded without turning around. John loved his mother very much, but she sure knew how to talk. The entire day had been filled with her rambling on about the prices at Tesco's, plants, festivals, and other mindless chatter as he tried to watch the rugby game on the teli. The taxi he had phoned for was parked in front of the home and the driver sat impatiently in his seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I love you!" Mrs. Watson called out after her son, waving a hand in the air.

"I love you too." John replied as he quickly opened the back door of the cab and hopped in, dropping a backpack beside him. He took a deep breath in and exhaled, relaxing into the leather seat of the small taxi. "To the train station please." He told the driver, who then started the car and drove away. John couldn't wait to get home and see his girlfriend Mary, who had also been away for a few days saying she had 'some business to take care of'. John looked out of his window, watching the green hills roll by as the cottage grew smaller and smaller behind him.

*** 

After a long drive in silence, the cab driver glanced in his rearview mirror. "Do you come out to these parts often?" He asked in a thick Irish accent.

"Only to visit my mum," he answered, "she moved out here after my dad died." The driver nodded, clearly wondering if he should have asked the question. "It's okay." John assured him, "we barely had a relationship, he was always working on projects that he assured us would 'really work this time', they never did, but it kept him busy enough to stay out late and allow him to sleep all day." The cabbie nodded again, he seemed to have removed himself from the conversation, thanks for listening, John thought to himself as he placed his head against the cold glass window, and continued to watch the scenery around him. After about 45 minutes, the taxi slowed to a halt. 

"That'll be £35." The driver turned in his seat to face John. 

"£35?" John scoffed, "it should be at most 30!" 

"5 extra for the talking." He bit back.

"You're the one that started the bloody conversation!" John yelled, slapping £30 into the man's hand. He got out of the taxi and slammed the door, and the driver sped off. Just as quickly John spun around. "Wait!" John called after the car, "my backpack!" But the cab had already pulled around a corner. Gone forever. John felt around in his pockets, he had his phone and his wallet, but that was it. No food, no change of clothes for the long train ride ahead, no toothbrush, no pillow. John groaned and walked down the steps to the train station, wallet in hand, pulling out his ticket to return to London.

***

John was one of a very few people to board the already quite full train, they all piled in and found their seats, leaving John to wander around the train cars awkwardly, searching for a place to sit. Suddenly, a little boy came racing past, knocking John out of the way, causing him to lose his balance. John fell backward just as the train started to move, throwing him not so gently into the man sitting in the chair behind him. 

"I am so sorry, I didn't-" John's sentence was cut short as he looked up at the young man he had slammed just into. He had surprisingly blue eyes that gazed down at him in confusion as to why there was a stranger sitting in his lap. His curly dark brown hair stopped just above his eyes, his eyelashes being the longest John had ever seen, and don't get him started on the guy's cheekbones. 

"Hey."

" _Get off me._ " The man didn't sound angry, he sounded uncomfortable. 

"Oh. right." John slid off his lap and took a seat in front of him. "I'm sorry about that by the way, I'm Watson, ah, John Watson." He started, still feeling absolutely foolish. 

"Sherlock Holmes." He replied, returning his gaze to the book that had been crushed beneath John as he pressed the pages to return them to their original shape. 

_The Art of Beekeeping_ , the book's cover read. John had no idea why such a fascinating looking bloke would be interested in something that seemed so boring. He mumbled something that John couldn't make out.

"What was that?" John leaned forward. Sherlock looked up at him, tilting his head to the side. 

"Coming home from a long weekend spent with your mother?" He repeated. His voice was deep and rich as though he was trying to lull someone to sleep. 

"Yeah," John nodded, but then stopped and looked more intently at him, "wait, how could you possibly have known-"

"Your sweater. Your eyes. Your lack of suitcase or backpack of any kind." Sherlock interrupted. 

"My sweater?" John laughed, this bloke may have been attractive but he was starting to sound a bit crazy. 

"Yes your sweater. You clearly don't like it, you keep folding your arms over it, perhaps it was a gift, a gift from your mother, that's why you're wearing it, to make her happy even though it's the last day she'll be seeing you. Now your eyes, you're tired, you probably didn't get to sleep until around midnight, you wouldn't just stay up so someone had to keep you up meaning your mother talks a lot which brings me to the backpack, you love your mother, hence the reason you went to see her, but you're very tired and want to rush home and get some rest so you threw all your things in the cab that brought you to the station and left them there when you got out, am I wrong?" Sherlock spoke quickly as if he wanted to say everything he had to say before needing to take a breath. 

John sat in awe, he then looked down at his arms and realized they were folded tightly against his chest. John wasn't even aware he had put them like that in the first place, he dropped his arms to his sides, placing his right one on the armrest connected to the chair, meshing his fingers together. "That was absolutely amazing," John muttered. Sherlock looked touched.

"You really think so?" He asked. John laughed again, "of course, that was brilliant." Sherlock smiled slightly. 

"Thanks," he said before looking back down into his book.


	2. Unknown Number.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock falls asleep, only to be woken up by John, who seems to be having a bit of trouble.

Sherlock watched the young man sitting in front of him closely. He wasn't usually interested in, well, people. They were all dull and stupid. But there was something about this John character that intrigued him, and it aggravated Sherlock that he didn't know what it was. He made it his goal to find out.

"Anyone waiting for you back at home?" He asked, looking him in the eyes. As he did so, he studied John's face, taking in every detail, every feature.  _Agh, not enough room_. He thought,  _I have to delete something_. Sherlock blocked out John's answer as he looked for something in his Mind Palace to get rid of.  _The Solar System_ , he decided. _Who cares about the planets anyway?_ Sherlock shut his eyes and logged away the newly gathered information of the man. He was much smaller than Sherlock, height-wise, with short dirty blonde hair and hazel colored eyes. His nose was small and perfectly placed, framing his face quite well.  

"-girlfriend, Mary." John finished, and Sherlock sat up straight.  "You've got a girlfriend?" He asked to confirm, and much to his own surprise, his voice had an inflection of panic in it. How very human of him.

"Um...yeah. Yeah, I do, Mary. Mary Morstan." Sherlock studied John's face again, quite intensely actually, looking for any sign of doubt, but all he found was confusion. "Why are you looking at me like that? It's getting a bit scary." John laughed and leaned back in his chair.  _He has a very nice laugh_ , Sherlock thought to himself, catching himself off guard once again. _You hate people, they're all boring. They're all awful._

_***_

John watched as Sherlock fidgeted around in his seat. "Okay," he began, "what about you then? Do you have a girlfriend?" John had forgotten all about Mary until Sherlock brought it up, which was really surprising because John was convinced he was in love with her.

"No, not really my area." Sherlock chose his words carefully, and for a moment, John found himself smiling.

"Boyfriend, then?" John asked, but received a strange look from Sherlock. "I'm...I...just asking." John stammered, hoping Sherlock didn't get the wrong idea.

"I find myself alone most of the time. Not many people are interested in solving crimes." Sherlock responded, giving John that look again, as if he were searching his mind. John suddenly felt excited.

"You solve crimes?" He asked, but then added, "well I mean, of course you do, you're clearly smart enough. Are you a detective?" John was leaning forward in his seat now, the scenery racing by the train to his left in a blur of greens and yellows.

"Consulting detective." Sherlock answered in a very calm tone.

"Consul-"

"When police are too dumb to know what's going on, which is always, they consult me for help. Consulting detective."

"Ah." John nodded as he tried to understand what Sherlock just said, he spoke so fast. "You're fantastic." John smiled, looking Sherlock in the eyes.

"I...um..." Sherlock blinked at John, his cheeks turned a bright red, which stood out in great contrast to his pale face. John's phone made a beeping noise, and as he pulled it out, Sherlock still sat there, blinking.

_Can't wait until you get home._

The number was unknown. As Sherlock sat there, silent and blinking in front of him, John texted a quick reply,  _Mary?_

About half an hour later, no reply had come in, and Sherlock had fallen asleep. He was a beautiful sleeper, his dark curls swept to the side, his chest rising and falling as he breathed in the air around him. John watched him in amazement, before that moment he had had no idea that a guy could be beautiful. But if there ever was a man that was so, it had to be Sherlock. John sat back and was about to doze off himself, but he snapped back to attention when his phone alerted him that another text had come in.

_Guess again._

John thought to himself of all the friends he had back in London, but there weren't actually that many.

 _Mike?_ John responded, he was the only other person John could think of, which, as he came around to it, was quite sad. This time, a reply came in quicker.

_1 more guess._

"Sherlock?" John whispered. Sherlock grumbled something but was definitely still asleep. John reached his leg across the gap between them and poked Sherlock with his foot.

***

_John leaned over and placed his hands on the armrests either side of Sherlock, "you're fantastic." He whispered into his ear. "Absolutely fantastic." Sherlock smiled, and placed his hand on the back of John's neck, pulling him closer, when John suddenly kicked him in the shins._

Sherlock awoke from his dream with a start. "What?" He snapped, a little more aggressive than originally intended, noticing that John was only nudging his leg.

Without a word, John passed Sherlock his phone.

"You looked pretty bored, so I have something for you to do. Solve me a case, Sherlock Holmes." 


	3. A Study In Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had the phone in his hand, ready to go. He had to impress John, he just had to.

Sherlock was still a bit bothered at being woken up from his fantasy, but he was ready to impress John with his case solving skills. Sherlock leaned forward and examined the man's phone. It was thin, black, and all scratched up. Sherlock knew immediately the phone had been given as a gift, but he didn't think much of it, and proceeded to scroll through John Watson's messages.

Before looking at the texts from the unknown number, he decided to look into this "Mary" character. Tapping on her contact info, he saw immediately that this was no ordinary woman. She was gorgeous, with short blonde hair and a perfect smile, Sherlock felt envy build up inside him, but he brushed the feeling off as soon as it came.

He looked up at John, who seemed to be lost in thought, he stared so intently out the window, one hand brushing over his five o'clock shadow. Sherlock shook his head and returned his gaze to the phone, he decided it was a good time to look through John's messages. Mary First.

_Hey x -JW_

_Hey yourself x -MM_

_Can't wait to see you x -JW_

_I have a surprise ;) -MM_

_What is it? -JW_

_I can't tell you, silly! -MM_

Sherlock quickly grew bored of the conversation, as he figured out what Mary's surprise was. No doubt something sexual. Probably lingerie.

Sherlock moved on to the task at hand, but after reading the messages from the unknown number, he didn't have a clue who it could be. The area code expressed that the phone had been purchased somewhere in London, the lack of punctuation suggested a more masculine personality. Suddenly, as Sherlock held the phone in his hands, a new message came in. _Oh, letting your boyfriend help you?_ Sherlock glanced around the train car. It was empty, which was strange, since it had been full earlier.

Where was the woman with the annoying little baby who wouldn't shut up? Where was the boy who had knocked John into his lap? Where was the strange man that had sat alone in the seats next to them, allowing Sherlock to see nothing of him but the smirk on his face? Sherlock thought harder, he wanted to impress John, but fear had settled into him that he was going to end up looking like a complete idiot.

 _Think! Think!_ Sherlock put the phone between his legs and pressed his hands to the side of his head, shutting his eyes tightly. A thousand thoughts and places raced in front of him, beside him, around him, his mind filled with clutter and Sherlock couldn't help but let out a wild yell, startling John nearly out of his seat. "Of course! Stupid stupid." Sherlock beamed as the answer appeared right in front of him.

"I'm sorry am I missing something?" John asked him as he readjusted his sitting position to face Sherlock. Sherlock began spouting words so fast to john that he could hardly understand, John couldn't help but laugh as he watched Sherlock, whose growing excitement resembled that of a child opening presents at Christmas. Sherlock's perfect lips were drawn tightly into a grin, and he shook the phone lightly in his left hand. The rate of which he spoke seemed to slow down, either that or John had learned how to catch up because his mouth was still moving so...so-

"What? What is that thing you're doing?" Sherlock looked john square in the face, confused. "Oh, smiling you mean?" John kept laughing. Sherlock started to grow insecure, a flicker of pain flashed in his eyes, he knew it. John thought he was weird just like everyone else. _Of course, idiot. This is what happens when you don't immediately repel people, they grow bored and annoyed with you, and then laugh in your face._

"You are so amazing." John kept laughing, it was such a great sound, and heat filled Sherlock cheeks.

"You're laughing, why?" Sherlock tried to casually hide his cheeks with his hands, but he felt foolish and decided to play it off by fluffing his hair. Now _that_ was attractive. John watched him intently, almost forgetting what he talking about completely. The way Sherlock's thick dark brown curls overlapped each other, so messy yet so organized. Sherlock also watched John, who he noticed was staring at him, his eyes were so focused, his body so calm. Sherlock deduced all he could about John in that second.

_Army._

_Likes Cats._

_Bisexual._

_Hand tremor._

_Bisexual._

_Close to mum._

_Likes sweaters and flannels._

_Bisexual._

_Composed._

_Beautiful._

_Bisexual._

_Kind._

_Calm._

_Romantic._

_Bisexual. Bisexual. Bisexual._

Sherlock realized he was letting his feelings control the deduction - how human of him - but he couldn't let himself get distracted. Not now. Reaching forward he grabbed John's hand, who then stiffened and looked both embarrassed and confused. Sherlock's excitement only grew deeper as he pulled John from his seat and began running through the train cars. Looking for the answer. The answer that could impress John.


	4. Dead Ends, Unlikely Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 4 years later and I am back to finish this story.

"Where on earth are we going, Sherlock?" John tumbled down the train car, led by the hand of a man he had met mere moments before. _That's weird,_ he thought.  _When did the train become so empty?_ Sherlock stopped abruptly, and John ran into the back of his stiffened frame.

"A bit clumsy, aren't you?" Sherlock turned to face him. Normally, a comment like that would leave John feeling insulted, but there was something so firm and consolidating in the way Sherlock spoke that he was only left nodding in agreement. John felt foolish standing beside Sherlock. Sherlock was tall, thin, and somehow so beautiful. But something had changed.

"Sectoral heterochromia," John whispered, and Sherlock grew confused.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Your eyes, they were blue before. They're green now," John smiled, "that's really cool, you know?"

"Central heterochromia," Sherlock stated, leaning his face in close to John's. John felt the heat rising in his face, but couldn't tell if it was because he was blushing or because Sherlock was so warm.

"I...I..." John couldn't speak, every time he began to feel comfortable, Sherlock did something that totally floored him.

"The outermost part of your iris is blue and grey, however, the ring around your pupil is brown, gold even," Sherlock was pleased.


End file.
